Having just experienced the Shakespearian coup d’etat attempt against Speaker Newt Gingrich (R-Ga.) the summer before, things had settled down a bit and Capitol Hillers had little expectation that the 1998 news cycle would offer much that could match the previous year’s tumult.

Sure, it was a midterm election year, but Republicans, despite some internal bickering about how Democratic President Bill Clinton always seemed to be holding better cards, had a secure hold on the House and the Senate and would probably expand their majorities come November.

Then, in January, the political bombshell of bombshells: The president apparently had a girlfriend. An intern named Monica. And little did we know it at the time, but that titillating revelation would not only drive the entire news train for the rest of the year, it would lead to articles of impeachment and a Senate trial, before ultimately backfiring on the very House Republicans who spent the year stoking the coals.

Upon first learning of the scandal, the big question in early January 1998 was whether President Clinton would or would not address the controversy during his State of the Union.

He did not, but before the speech, at the end of a White House press conference, Clinton said these now-famous words that changed political history forever.

“I want to say one thing to the American people. I want you to listen to me. I’m going to say this again: I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky. I never told anybody to lie; not a single time; never. These allegations are false, and I need to go back to work for the American people.”

Bill Clinton did go back to work, and so did the House Republicans who were convinced, despite the president’s finger-wagging denial, that he had lied under oath about Monica Lewinsky while giving testimony in the Paula Jones sexual harassment case.

The rest of the year proceeded to play out like some off-kilter, ill-conceived stage play, testing out new lead actors every day, the playbill featuring a unique mix of flawed characters, overplayed acts and ambiguous scenes that, even to those of us who lived and breathed it, still have a hard time assimilating and placing in its proper order:

Monica Lewinsky. Immunity. DNA samples. Kenneth Starr. The impeachment managers. Henry Hyde. Youthful indiscretions. Newt Gingrich. Paula Jones. Kathleen Willey. Gennifer Flowers. Videotaped Clinton grand jury testimony. Linda Tripp. Taped Tripp/Lewinsky phone conversations. Bombs over Baghdad. House impeachment vote. Bob Livingston. Denny Hastert.

Whether you were in the news business, or an average citizen watching the saga unfold on the evening news, it was an incredibly interesting time, despite the fact that the two distinct lines of “constitutional truth” and “pure slime” blurred together with regularity. That was how 1998 went.

Then, on July 24 — 10 years ago Thursday — while in the middle of this titillating impeachment madness, an incredible sadness descended upon Capitol Hill.

Officer Jacob (J.J.) Chestnut and Detective John Gibson were brutally gunned down in the line of duty. Chestnut, a Vietnam veteran, 18 years on the force, and just a few months from retirement, was standing watch at his Document Door post.

John Gibson, a man with a thick Boston accent, was a big fan of the Bruins, Red Sox and U-Mass, and was always on the prowl for the latest Boston Globe. He was just inside a side door that led directly to the Capitol office of Rep. Tom DeLay (Texas), who was then the GOP whip.

Hearing shots, Gibson moved toward the door (directly into the danger) and shot the deranged gunman before he could enter the office, where he could have killed several staffers, if not Mr. DeLay himself.

The saddest of days on Capitol Hill. But, then, as sometimes happens in the midst of the horrific — redemption.

The next few days around the Capitol were like nothing I had never seen. Spontaneously, individuals, families, tourists, staffers and members solemnly approached the steps of the Capitol to place flower arrangements in honor of the two officers. The steps were soon covered.

The next day, a Saturday, I was in my TV-producer uniform, working just across from where the shootings took place, when I looked over my shoulder toward the Supreme Court. Amazingly, I began to see the tourists lining up for their tour of the Capitol — their Capitol. They were not scared away by the previous day’s horror. They woke up that morning knowing instinctively that some other officers would take J.J.’s and John’s place in protecting the building and them.

Despite the obvious sadness for their families and those who loved them, J.J. Chestnut and John Gibson were exactly where they were supposed to be that day. Doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing. Protecting. Serving.

Not flinching from their required duty when fate intervened. No second-guessing motives here. No gamesmanship. No blurred lines. Despite the sadness, a redemptive dose of clarity during a year that gave us anything but.

You can reach Jim Mills at This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it